


Out of Memory and Time

by Mack_the_Spoon



Category: Fringe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e22 The Day We Died, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-08
Updated: 2011-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-27 02:33:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mack_the_Spoon/pseuds/Mack_the_Spoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-Ep for the S3 finale, now made AU by the canon of S4.<br/>"If she was going to have a voice in her head, she thought to herself, couldn't it be someone she actually knew?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Memory and Time

**Author's Note:**

> (I don't own Fringe, its episodes, characters, or plots.)  
> I know I'm not the only one to have written fics like this one, but I hope I've taken mine in a relatively unique direction.  
> Also, thanks to Namarie for the edits.

~~~~~~  


She hardly even noticed the first time it happened. Part of that was that it was during such a mundane life event – she was just about to leave for work in the morning when something reminded her that she had left her badge on her dresser. So she paused before opening her front door, then turned to get it. She was in her car about to turn the key in the ignition before she heard it again. _I'm guessing you never forget your gun at home, though_. Her fingers stilled, and she looked around quickly. Of course there was no one there, but she could have sworn she had just heard a voice – a male voice. In fact, it was the same voice that had reminded her not to forget her badge. “What the hell?” she muttered. Obviously, it was time to start getting more sleep. The stress of the past few weeks since the opening of the bridge must be getting to her.

 _You did hear me! Come on, Olivia. You know as well as I do that you've been through much worse_ , the voice insisted. _It's not stress. This is something else. Listen to me, please._

She dropped her keys, then bent forward with shaking hands to find them at her feet. The voice was right about her having been through worse, of course, but that didn't mean she wasn't finally losing it. She started the car and turned on the radio to NPR, the volume louder than she usually would choose. If she was going to have a voice in her head, she thought to herself before resolutely focusing on what the announcer was saying, couldn't it be someone she actually knew? Maybe John, although that would be quite odd after two years, as opposed to a stranger?

Olivia thought she heard the voice say something about not being a stranger, but she gripped the steering wheel hard and ignored it so firmly that she arrived at Walter's lab without having even paid attention to the route. Other than starting the workday with a faint headache that coffee didn't cure, nothing else out of the ordinary happened that day. So she chalked it up to a random effect of stress and decided to forget it.

She was successful only until the very next day, when that headache came back as their Fringe team discussed (or argued, in the case of Walter and Walternate) the possibilities of using the Machine with Olivia's alternate, the alternate Lincoln Lee, and Charlie. No one was very sure how exactly it could be used – in fact, no one was very sure of anything about it – and Olivia was getting impatient with hearing the same facts and arguments over again.

She found herself staring at it, not hearing what Walternate was trying to shout over Walter's protests.   
_I guess it's still not going to be easy, is it?_ she heard, and she looked around quickly. Her heart started to pound as she realized it was that same voice from yesterday. _I mean, they still can't even agree on anything_ , the voice went on, as her eyes skimmed over the two Bishops.

Olivia shook her head lightly, seeing her alternate give her a curious look. Shut up, she thought. This is not happening.

 _But it is, Olivia_ , the voice insisted, and this time, she felt a prickle at the back of her neck because there was something familiar about it. _I don't know how it's happening, but some part of you remembers me, and some part of you can hear me._

No, she thought. I have no idea what you're talking about. She tried to turn her attention back to the discussion.

“But that's what I'm saying,” Brandon (their Brandon – the other side's rarely entered the bridge room when Olivia was there, after their first very tense interactions) spoke with some heat. “If we can't find the Machine's intended power source, I just don't think we're going to be able to get anything out of it.”

Olivia heard a kind of rueful laugh that no one else reacted to. _Yeah, that's going to be difficult. How do you guys think this room showed up, in the first place? I'm honestly curious._

She stood up suddenly. “I'll be right back,” she managed to say, hoping she didn't sound too frantic. She had to get out of the room before she started talking back to the imaginary voice in her mind. There were already plenty of crazy people there without adding her own new brand. A band of pain started to squeeze around her head, pulsing in perfect sync with her increased heartbeat.

“Are you all right, Olivia?” Astrid asked, in a concerned undertone. Their Lincoln Lee also gave her a worried look.

“Fine,” she said, with a strained smile. “Um, I just need to use the restroom.” She left before anyone could say anything else.

 _Look, Olivia, I'm sorry this is freaking you out. I'd talk to you some other way if I could._

“Go away,” she whispered, deciding to make good on her excuse to Astrid and Lincoln. There was no one else around (of course, since it was now a top secret area), so she was alone when she went into the women's restroom. She leaned against the wall just inside and put her hands to her face.

 _I don't have any other options. Really,_ the voice went on. _I don't want to hurt you._

She groaned. Then she pulled the travel case of extra-strength Tylenol out of her pocket and shook out two pills. It would probably be easier to ignore the voice if she could at least get rid of the headache. She hoped. Swallowing the pills with a drink from the tap, she paused and stared at herself in the mirror. Her confused expression didn't give her any answers.

But after a minute more of waiting, the voice seemed to be silent. “You gone?” she said quietly to the empty air, feeling ridiculous for talking to herself. There was no response, and she took a deep breath and let it out. Maybe she could get back to work without more insane interruptions.

~~~~~~

That night, she dreamed events that had never happened. Yet as she saw them play out, they seemed achingly familiar: she was standing in the air-conditioned lobby of a hotel, and she knew it was on another continent, and then she was shaking hands with... someone. Irritatingly, she could barely see his face, but it was someone important, and she was asking for his help with a case. Then the scene changed and she was outside a hospital room, feeling helpless and overwhelmed. People were dying and she felt like she was the cause. There was someone else at the hospital with her, although again she could not see his face. He offered her the comfort of his arms around her, and she took it. For a moment, the panic went away. There was something more in the dream, something about the other universe and a feeling of betrayal, but Olivia woke up before she could pursue it.

She blinked in the darkness, the vivid images already beginning to fade. She had the vague idea that she had actually experienced all the things she dreamt about, although not quite in that way. There was an aspect that was added in the dream, to each real-life situation. She realized that there were tears on her face, but she didn't know why she should be sad. Despite the fact that the dream didn't seem to have been very disturbing, it took her an hour to fall back to sleep.

~~~~~~

Work seemed to be passing by the next day charmingly free of auditory hallucinations, Olivia noted. That was enough to improve her mood even in spite of not feeling very rested (and what had her life come to, if not hallucinating was a highlight?). She admitted to herself that the better mood than yesterday was probably also due in part to the fact that they weren't working with the Other Side's Fringe team today. Quite apart from the tension that Walter and Walternate always brought to the table when working together, Olivia just couldn't feel comfortable working with her alternate. She had thought a lot about it and couldn't quite decide why that should be, but it was a fact nonetheless. Olivia decided it probably had to do with her general impression of danger and mistrust connected to the Other Side – which was hardly a surprising reaction to being brainwashed and then almost vivisected.

In any case, the collapse of the universes seeming to be at a relative standstill, today was a run-of-the-mill weird case involving two deaths in which the victims were found encased in what looked like spider webs. Walter, perhaps as pleased as she was to avoid her alternate, dug into the case eagerly. He discovered right away that the weblike substance was synthetic, and Olivia was relieved. She had no unusual fear of bugs, but the thought of a spider large enough to catch a person was beyond disturbing. The bodies were, however, drained of blood, which brought its own share of troubling possibilities to the situation.

“Have you found where the blood was drained from?” Olivia asked. She had told Lincoln that she'd get updates from Walter and Astrid while he ran down suppliers of the materials the killer had used to create his webbing.

“Yes, we have, for both Mr. and Mrs. Ferrars,” said Walter. He beckoned her over and pointed to a spot on the inside of Mr. Ferrars' upper left arm, then the identical place on the right. “The exsanguination seems to have been caused by severing the victims' brachial arteries.”

“What were they severed with?” Olivia asked.

“This is another piece of evidence against any sort of non-human attack,” Walter said, raising a gloved finger, which he then used to show the edges of the wound again. “There is a distinct cut here, made by a sharp knife, perhaps a surgical scalpel.”

She nodded, frowning. “How quickly would death have occurred?”

“Not longer than a minute, I would guess, especially since my examination showed that what little blood remained in the body was localized in the victims' hands and head,” he said.

“He means they were hung upside down and bled out,” Astrid explained, grimacing. She was in the process of taking off her gloves and apron.

“Like an animal carcase in a butcher's shop,” Walter added cheerfully. Then, with a guilty look, he glanced toward Gene's corner, seeming relieved when she made no response.

“Why? Why would someone go to all this trouble?” Olivia wondered. “And if you're going to bleed someone to death, why not just go for the jugular?”

“Ah yes, I wondered that myself,” Walter said. “Severing the carotid and jugular is a faster way both to kill and to exsanguinate. I can't explain the murderer's choice.”

Olivia checked to make sure the part of the counter she was in front of was uncluttered before leaning against it. “Well, we've got to think this guy wants the deaths to look like some kind of creature did it, right? Otherwise why the fake spider silk? Maybe he just thought we'd be less likely to notice knife wounds to the arm.”

Walter looked thoughtful. “You could be right, dear.” He took off his gloves slowly, still lost in thought. “You know, all this talk has made me think of something.”

“What's that, Walter?” Astrid said.

But Olivia almost didn't hear his typically Walter reply about craving steak for dinner (apparently he'd decided that Gene wasn't listening), because there was a thought trying to make its way to the forefront of her mind. The talk had reminded her of something, too – and not something to do with food. It was a conversation she'd had with someone... but she remembered it happening in the lab a few years ago, yet that made no sense. She quite clearly recalled the case about the mysterious boy that had been found underneath the condemned building, and how he'd helped them catch the Artist, but there had been no conversation about someone on their team having worked at a meat-packing plant-

“Olivia!” Astrid's voice broke in on her thoughts, and by the intensity of it, she guessed the younger agent had been trying to get her attention for a while.

“What?” she said, blinking.

“I wanted to know if you wanted to get some lunch with us,” Astrid said, looking concerned. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” she said, with an apologetic smile. “I guess I'm just a little tired. I didn't sleep well last night. Um, where are you going for lunch? You're not really going to have steak, are you, Walter?”

“I really don't see why everyone is-” he began.

“We're going to get subs,” Astrid interrupted. “Unless you want everyone else to be sick to our stomachs.”

He sighed. “Fine. I suppose a roast beef sub sandwich will be good enough.”

“I'll come,” said Olivia, going to get her coat. She didn't want to keep thinking about the bizarre pseudo-memory she had just flashed to, anyway, so perhaps leaving the lab would be a good distraction.

~~~~~~

As it turned out, Agent Lee called her only minutes after she'd gotten her sandwich with the news that he'd found a few local suppliers of those materials, and he'd already spoken to one who remembered a man in his late 30s who came in person to ask about getting his product just two weeks ago. “We got a picture from the security cameras outside this guy's office. He doesn't get a lot of visitors, so it was easy to pick him out. I'm on my way to the next person on the list who's made a sale recently, with the picture. It might not pan out, but do you want to come?”

“Sure,” she said, telling him the address of the sub shop. “You want me to pick you up a sandwich before you get here?”

“I actually just grabbed some fast food, but now I wish I hadn't,” he said ruefully. “Your idea would have been better for my health and probably for my clothes. I know from experience that grease stains never come out, and yet I keep trying to eat on the run.”

She laughed. “Well, we'll see you in a few minutes.” She hung up and turned to the others, explaining that it was Lincoln and that he was on his way.

“Oh, then it's a good thing I'm almost finished,” said Walter, taking a final sip of milkshake through his straw.

Olivia realized that it hadn't been clear whether Lincoln intended Walter and Astrid to come along. He had only been working with the team for about a month, after all, and she knew sometimes he didn't know exactly how to fit in with the dynamic of the group as it had been. She knew her initial awkwardness around him hadn't helped, but it had been so strange to work with him here after knowing his alternate while under the impression that she was her own alternate. That had only been made more strange after she became pretty sure that Over There's Lincoln Lee had a crush on Over There's Olivia Dunham.

Still, she felt like she had almost adjusted to having another member on the team, and Lincoln was smart, dependable and motivated. The awkwardness had mostly faded by this point, she thought. Walter seemed to like him, and Astrid generally got along with everyone. She decided that Lincoln should realize that Walter's scientific knowledge of the compounds they were tracking down would be beneficial, so them coming along shouldn't be unexpected.

When he got there, she could tell he hadn't quite anticipated it, though. And though that was really perfectly natural, something about it seemed... off, to Olivia. It wasn't something about him specifically, she thought, but it seemed to her that the four of them had done this enough that he should... but had they? Once again, it felt like she was starting to remember things that didn't make sense.

This time, nothing shook her out of that preoccupied state, even when they reached the office building where the next man on the list worked. Olivia felt strangely detached, and her head was starting to ache again. She heard herself asking questions, and listened to what he and everyone else was saying, but it felt less real than it should be feeling. They received confirmation that the person in Lincoln's photo had visited this office, too, and Olivia watched herself call Broyles to update him as if she was looking from far away.

 _Whoa, this is new_ , came the voice all of a sudden. _What's going on, Olivia?_

She almost smiled as they made their way back to Lincoln's car. And here was her imaginary friend, coming to bring the cherry on top of this latest insanity – asking her what was happening, as if she had any damn idea. She leaned back against the headrest and wished she'd remembered to get more Tylenol from her medicine cabinet that morning.

 _Seriously, Olivia, it's a good thing you're not driving because this can't be good_ , the voice insisted.

She let out an annoyed breath at the obviousness of the statement, and then she noticed that his voice was familiar in the same way the shadowy half-memories that had been running through her brain for the last half hour were familiar. What the hell was this?

 _You're remembering? Are you remembering me?_ the voice wanted to know. He sounded excited and disbelieving.

“-should I take you back to the lab, Olivia?” Agent Lee was asking, and again she got the feeling that he had asked more than once.

She looked at him and noted his worried expression. “Oh, yeah, that's where my car is.” She started to say something more, but her headache was getting worse and so was her ability to focus on what was actually happening. She saw flashes of someone else sitting across from her, someone she didn't know yet knew intimately, remembered talking about cases, about life with this person (she had never had these conversations), remembered him laughing with her and with Walter and Astrid –

 _That did happen,_ the voice said. _It all happened._ Now he sounded grave. _I don't know how you're seeing this, but you have to believe me when I say these aren't false memories. There were four of us before. It was me – I used to work with you._

The car had stopped, Olivia realized, and she realized just as suddenly that her eyes had been closed. When she opened them, the pounding in her head intensified. She vaguely heard someone else in the car saying something as she unbuckled her seatbelt, opened the door, and stepped out. She didn't answer, finding that she needed too much concentration to put one foot in front of the other. And then the edges of her vision got decidedly blurry, and then everything went black.

~~~~~~

Astrid's face met her eyes when she next opened them, and the junior agent's face broke into a smile. “Hey, you scared us. Are you feeling okay? Walter wanted to call an ambulance, but I-”

She sat up from where she had been reclining. It was the chair in the middle of Walter's lab. “No, no, I don't need to go to the hospital,” she said quickly, putting a hand to her head and then running it over her hair. Her headache had faded to a much more bearable level.

“Are you sure? Because you collapsed pretty dramatically outside,” said Lincoln, reaching out a hand as if to help her stand, then seeming to think better of it. “If Astrid hadn't been right behind you to catch you, you might have a head wound to go along with whatever made you faint.”

Olivia stood and smiled uncomfortably. “Oh, thanks. I-”

“Olivia! Are you all right?” Walter came over carrying what looked suspiciously like an EEG machine. He quickly set it down and approached her anxiously. “What happened, my dear? And I think you'd better go back to earlier today at least, if not farther. I doubt this came over you all at once.”

Olivia sighed and looked down, then back up again. “No, I – I think this has been going on for a few days now. Walter, I feel like I'm going crazy.”

He looked compassionate. “I've told you, dear. If you were going crazy, the chances are you wouldn't notice what was occurring.”

She nodded. “Okay.” She cleared her throat. “Um, if I'm going to tell this story right now, we should sit down. There are chairs in my office.” Of course there was Walter's chair here, but since its chief use was for experiments, Olivia preferred to be elsewhere. Besides, her office had the additional benefit of a certain bottle in the drawer of her desk.

~~~~~~

When she'd finished both the story and a drink (she would have had more, but she was technically still on duty), Olivia looked at Walter again. He had maintained a rather uncharacteristic silence during her recounting, and no one else spoke right away, either. She swallowed. “I hoped it was just a passing thing, that maybe it would go away if I tried to get more sleep.”

“That doesn't seem likely,” Walter said thoughtfully. “And neither does this being caused by any loss of sanity on your part.”

Her throat was suddenly dry again, and she cleared it. “Really.”

“I'm sure it's been very unsettling for you, but I believe it's something more along the lines of what happened the time I referred to earlier, when you worried about going crazy before,” he said.

She frowned. “You mean this has something to do with Cortexiphan?” The thought had crossed her mind, but it was so different from any other experience she'd ever had with her abilities. “That doesn't explain what's actually going on, though. Do you think I'm seeing the other Olivia's memories, or something?”

“That's one possibility,” Walter said. “But from what you described about what this person you're hearing is saying to you, he seems quite sure he knows you, not the other Olivia.”

“Right,” she said, sighing at the loss of an explanation that made even some sense.

“Wait, I think I'm missing a little something here,” said Agent Lee.

Olivia was about to ask him just how much he had read about the Cortexiphan trials after he transferred, but Walter interrupted.

“If what Agent Dunham has been seeing and hearing is true, Agent Lee, it seems we may all be missing something. Or someone.”

As he spoke the words, Olivia shivered and felt the back of her neck prickle again. She had a gut feeling that Walter was right. Some the sense of sadness she had felt in her dream the other night came back to her, as well.

“Well, I should say, Agent Dunham, Agent Farnsworth, and I are,” Walter corrected himself. “The voice mentioned four of us including him, not you.”

Lincoln smiled ruefully. “I don't know whether I should be hurt or relieved.”

“So, what do we do about this, Walter?” Olivia asked, hoping the answer wouldn't include hallucinogens.

“I would suggest we begin by inducing a state of REM sleep for you, my dear, and see if you dream about these other memories again,” said Walter.

“Okay,” she said, nodding. That sounded easy enough. “Oh, God, but we still have a killer on the loose. Lincoln, I hate to ask this but I'm not going to be of much use to you until we figure this out – can you take over the case for now?”

“No problem,” he said. “I really hope this all works out. I'll check with Broyles on if we've IDed the guy from the surveillance footage yet. But keep me updated on this, too?”

“I'll make sure you know if we find anything,” Astrid assured him.

“Uh,” said Lincoln, “shouldn't we tell Broyles about this, too?”

“Probably,” Olivia said. “We'll take care of it after we see if Walter can help.”

Lincoln didn't look too pleased with that, but eventually nodded. “All right. Good luck.”

~~~~~~~

Olivia was pretty sure she was asleep. She remembered she was supposed to be asleep so that Walter and Astrid could help her with something, so that must be what was happening. But she wasn't clear about that. From what she was seeing, it seemed more like she was watching herself under REM, with Walter's machines hooked up to her, but it wasn't now.

“ _What are you seeing, Olivia?”_ It was Walter.

“I – I don't understand. I'm asleep in the lab, and you and Astrid...” Olivia said, trailing off.

“ _You're seeing yourself?”_

“Yes, but it's not now. It's... the case with Nick Lane,” she explained, just realizing it herself. “Oh, he's here. The man, whoever he is.” She could see him.

“ _Who is he, Olivia?”_

“I don't know, I can't see his face. He's right there, but I can't see his face,” she said, feeling the scene waver as she grew tense.

 _Try, Olivia. You're so close._   


“Okay. I'm trying,” she said. Her head started to hurt, but she ignored it.

She heard and saw Astrid ask, “What is going on? Did he just kill someone?” and Walter began to explain. This was weird. How did she remember, without having consciously heard anyone's voices except Walter's?

 _You told me once that you had a freakishly good memory – which is particularly ironic right now._

“What? When did I-?” Olivia started to say, before it came over her that she was hearing two voices 'in real time' right now – Walter's, and the other man. “It's him, he's here.”

“ _Yes, now what does he look like? Who is he?”_ said Walter's voice.   


“No, no, I mean – I can hear him. Now,” Olivia said, and again she could tell that the confusion was not helping her stay under.

 _You can do this_ , said the other voice, at the same time that Walter's voice said, “All right, it's all right. Try to stay calm.”  


And then Walter-in-the-dream was saying, “Help her calm down. Go ahead, son.” And the man took her hand, and in the dream, she quieted.

In reality, her headache intensified and the dream flickered. “Son?”

 _Yes_ , said the man.

“ _Whose son? What is happening, Olivia?”_

“You... you called him 'son', Walter,” she said.

There was a long pause, during which no one spoke and the dream seemed to be running in slow motion. Then she heard a shuddering gasp, and she didn't know who it came from. And then her head hurt too much for her to sleep, and she sat up, narrowly avoiding smacking into the equipment above her. “Walter, why did you call him 'son'?” she asked, wincing and bringing a hand up to her head in a futile attempt to block out the increased pain.

Walter looked stunned. “I – I don't know. I never... this can't be...”

Astrid handed Olivia a glass of water and two Ibuprofen, sparing a worried glance at Walter. “Walter said you doing this might bring your headache back.”

“Thanks,” Olivia said, swallowing the pills gratefully. She closed her eyes. Now that it seemed like he should be most helpful, there was no man's voice to urge her to remember. When she opened her eyes again, neither Walter's position nor expression had changed. “What else can we do to find out what the hell is going on, Walter?”

He blinked. “I almost remembered. I almost could see someone in my mind's eye, when you first...” Then he took a deep breath. “We don't know that it means anything, for sure. What else did he say to you?”

Olivia sat back in the chair, head still pounding. “Um, I think first he wanted me to try to see his face. And he said... he said I'd told him I have a freakishly good memory, and that it was especially ironic right now. Oh, and after I heard you call him 'son', he said 'yes'. And then nothing.”

Astrid frowned. “How could we all have forgotten this guy? No matter what it ends up meaning, what you saw, it seems to mean he knows us very well. Are we talking some kind of brainwashing or something?”

“My head is killing me,” Olivia said. “It's as bad as it's ever been. I think that means something, too.”

“Your subconscious mind must be trying to remember what your conscious mind cannot,” Walter said quietly. He sounded almost defeated, or scared. “Do you need something additional for the pain?”

It was far more tempting than Walter's offers of drugs usually were. “I've got something for migraines at home,” she said after a moment.

“Doesn't that have caffeine in it, though?” Astrid said.

Olivia would have almost laughed at the implication. “Don't worry. I'll still be able to sleep.” Of course, that would only be true if the pain reliever actually worked. And that presupposed her being able to sleep even without caffeine, a sketchy possibility under the best of circumstances. She stood gingerly, accepting Astrid's hand with a muttered thanks.

 _God, I'm so sorry, Olivia_ , the voice said suddenly, bringing with it a stabbing crescendo of pain.

She clutched Astrid's hand involuntarily, and couldn't keep herself from crying out. “Who are you? Why can't we remember?” she gasped.

“Is he back, Olivia?” she heard Walter ask, sounding frankly terrified. Between the tears that had sprung to her eyes and the stars that filled her vision, she couldn't see what he was doing.

 _It's a long story, and I don't want to hurt you by telling you. It happened because of the Machine. But I am Walter's son, and I work – well, I used to work with you, and...we were a couple. I don't know how to reverse this, Olivia, but I'm worried about what will happen to me if we can't figure it out._

“Why, what do you mean?” she managed to say through gritted teeth, her mind whirling with what he had said. A couple? Walter's son? Nausea rose in her throat, and she knew she couldn't handle this agony much longer without blacking out again, but she had to know.

 _Olivia, I haven't told you my name because I don't know it! I've forgotten, too. I'm afraid if no one remembers, eventually I won't either. And then I'll really be gone,_ he said, and she could hear the tremor in his voice. Somehow she knew that wasn't something she had ever heard from him before. _But I can't do this to you._

“No, don't go,” she called, but the pain was already fading back down to the level it had been before he spoke. Her legs gave out in relief, and she felt two pairs of hands helping her back to the chair. “Oh, God, he's gone.” She was sobbing, whether from the pain or the fear she didn't know.

“Shh, Olivia, breathe,” Walter said.

Trying her best to obey, she blinked, and her vision finally cleared. “Walter,” she said, meeting his eyes firmly and taking a slow breath that still hitched, “I remember what he looks like. I've got to do a facial composite. We can't forget about him, or he'll be gone forever.”

Astrid nodded. “I'll pull up the program.”

Olivia once again was grateful for the junior agent's ability to roll with almost anything that came her way. “Good,” she said, closing her eyes again for a moment.

“What did he tell you, dear?” Walter asked quietly.

She still got the impression that he didn't really want to know. “He said... he couldn't tell me the full story because it would take too long. But he said he is your son, and he and I were a couple.” She hadn't begun to comprehend that. “And this all has to do with the Machine. And he doesn't remember his own name and he's afraid it'll get worse if we can't do something.” Her own voice shook with recalled terror.

“Dear God,” Walter breathed. “Olivia, this can't be true. How could I not know my own son?” He sounded so pitiful that she was reminded of her first meeting with him in St. Claire's.

She took his hand. “I don't know, Walter. I don't know how I could forget someone who was so important to me, either. But I feel like – like it has to be true. Don't you feel it?”

He squeezed her hand, but seemed too overcome to answer.

“Olivia, I have it ready,” Astrid said gently.

“Okay,” said Olivia. “Walter, maybe you can help.” She got up slowly, relieved that her legs were carrying her. “Dark hair, about three or four inches long. Blue eyes.” She described the shape of his face and helped Astrid get the eyebrows right, as well as the way his hair was parted.

“All right, what's next?” said Astrid. Olivia paused and considered, long enough for Astrid to look up at her. “Olivia?”

“Damn it!” Olivia ran a hand through her own hair (by now rather in disarray). “It's gone. Like waking up from a dream. That's all I have.”

Walter had come up to look over their shoulders. He drew in a sharp breath at the unfinished image. “But you almost have it! That's him. I recognize it.” He took over describing him, and Olivia watched as the man's face took shape. “That's him,” he repeated, when it was finished. “My _son_.”

“Guys, I'm starting to recognize him too,” Astrid said, eyes wide. “This is too bizarre. It's like his name is on the tip of my tongue.”

They shared a moment of confusion and longing. Finally, Olivia gave herself a mental shake. “Astrid, can you save that, and print it out? I still don't know what we should do next, but at least now we have this. Proof.”

“Yeah, I'll print out a couple of copies,” Astrid agreed. “And you should go home. Take that migraine medicine.”

Olivia opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. “You're right.” She wanted to stay, and maybe start a complete re-readthrough of all their files to see if her other memories were jogged by the details. But the band around her head threatened to squeeze tighter at the very thought, so she decided to admit defeat for the time being. She thought about calling Lincoln to tell him what they'd found. That idea somehow felt too complicated, as well, though and she remembered Astrid had mentioned doing it anyway. She waved off Astrid's offer to drive her home, and left.

~~~~~~

Unusually, the Excedrin kicked in right away and made Olivia sleepy right away. Even though it was far too early in the evening to sleep, she could feel herself drifting off on the couch after a quick dinner. She didn't fight it, and woke up at 8:09 absolutely certain that she had dreamt about Walter's son. She stood up, pleased that the headache was gone (although it had left its assurance that it could come back at any time), and found her copy of the picture. “Where did you go?” she wondered aloud.

It was time to test her earlier theory about looking through their casefiles, so she opened her laptop and began skimming through them, starting from that very first case more than three years ago. If Walter had a son, she thought, it probably would have been much easier to get him out of St. Claire's in the first place. An immediate family member could have had rights that Olivia had been forced to fight for, and probably would have eased Walter's transition back into the real world considerably. Although, based on how difficult he had been to work with especially at the beginning...

Suddenly she had a flash of Walter arguing with his son in the lab. It didn't stay long enough for her to make sense of it, and she pressed her lips together. On the other hand, there was no accompanying head pain, even for an instant, which was encouraging. The same pattern, of just a few images here and there as she skimmed through her files, continued for several cases. She took notes whenever there was enough to write about. After an hour, though, the results were not much of an alternate sketch of events. There were still too many blanks.

She sat back and put the laptop on her coffee table, rubbing a hand across her face. So much for that bright idea. Her cell phone rang at that moment, and she picked it up. “Agent Dunham.”

“It's Lincoln,” he said, sounding apologetic. “I know it's late and you had a hell of a day, but I thought you should know – I didn't wake you, though, did I?”

“No,” she said. “What's up?”

“We got the guy,” he said. “His name's Henry Ferrars, and before you ask, he is related to our victims. He's our Mr. Ferrars's cousin.”

“And he was the guy from the photo?” said Olivia. “What's the motive?”

“Not sure yet,” was the reply, frustrated. “He wouldn't say anything at all when we questioned him, except to claim he was at a club during the time of the murders. I should have that verified by sometime in the morning.”

“And we're holding him overnight?” she asked.

“Yeah, Boston PD's got him,” said Lincoln.

“Good work,” she said.

“Thanks,” he said. There was a short pause, and then he continued. “So Astrid told me a little about what happened this afternoon. How are you doing?”

“That's a good question. Really confused, mostly. The headache's gone, at least,” she said.

“That's good. I asked Astrid, and she said she thought we might show the composite you got to Broyles?”

She considered. “I guess it can't hurt. He must have known him.”

“Okay,” said Lincoln, and she tried not to worry about what it meant that he sounded so unsure, so noncommittal about the whole situation. “Anyway, glad you're feeling better. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, thanks,” she said. “Good night.” She hung up. As she glanced back at the picture of the man, she was struck by a new thought. If the nameless Bishop had really been wiped from their memories because of something to do with the machine, how did he fit in with the alternate universe? And had they known him, too? Was there another son for the Secretary?

As the last thought passed through her mind, it triggered another flash of memory: her standing in the doorway of a house with this man in front of her. He was smiling and saying something about getting ready to go – and glimmering. Again, the image was too ephemeral to hold onto, but she knew what that had to mean. This person she had apparently worked with, and apparently gotten much closer to than a colleague, wasn't from their universe.

Impulsively, she grabbed her phone again and dialed Walter's number. It took several rings for him to answer. “Walter,” she said, foregoing any greeting. “I just remembered: I saw him glimmer. Your son – he must not have been, he can't have been yours.”

She heard him gasp. “What do you mean? That...” then he trailed off, his indignation vanishing to be replaced with mild reproach and sorrow. “Olivia, I don't have your memory. I can't defend myself against this.”

She put a hand to her face. “I know. And I can't prove anything, and I know this is out of the blue for you. But... I suddenly can't help feeling that this is really important. He told me whatever made us all forget about him had something to do with the Machine. If he wasn't from our universe, but somehow he was over here long enough for you to consider him your son, and long enough to be part of our team... this seems like part of what we need to remember.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Walter spoke. “I'm sure you're right, Olivia. I know I've been fearing what you're starting to remember, and though I don't know why, exactly, I know it's because I feel guilty about it. It's more than guilt for having forgotten him. It is far deeper than that.”

Olivia frowned. She hadn't intended to give Walter more to feel guilty about. God knew, he already had taken the weight of both collapsing worlds on his shoulders. “Well, I'm not trying to blame you for anything. But I think that even if it's painful, it's important that we all try to figure this out.”

“I know you're asking with the right motives, my dear,” said Walter. There was another pause. “But do we – do I have to pass on this information to the Secretary of Defense?”

“No, Walter,” she said. “We don't know enough, for one thing. And I don't want to give him any more reason to hate us if we can help it.” She allowed her distaste for him to show through in her tone.

“Good. Of course,” he said, sounding relieved.

“Well, I'm sorry if I woke you,” Olivia said. “I'll let you get back to bed.”

“That's all right, Olivia,” he said. “I find myself agreeing with you that I want to know the truth, even if not all of it is how I would wish it to be. And if it turns out to be the only way to bring my son back, I can't refuse.”

She smiled. Walter's loyalty was one of his best qualities, and one she easily related to. “All right. Good night, Walter.”

“Good night.”

~~~~~~~

Olivia supposed turnabout was fair play, but she still couldn't help wishing Walter hadn't called her at 4:45 the next morning. At least he had apologized, but he had said it couldn't wait, and could she meet him at the lab as soon as possible? “Fine,” she had said, sitting up and getting out of bed. “Wait, Walter, I can pick you up. Maybe we can let Astrid sleep a little longer.”

“Oh, thank you, dear, but there's no need,” he had replied. “Agent Farnsworth is already on her way to my apartment.”

She shook her head as she replayed the conversation in her mind on the drive to the lab. Hopefully whatever Walter needed to show them was worth it. As she walked to the Kresge building, she realized with a pang that she hadn't asked if Walter had called Lincoln. But perhaps she could call him after she learned what was happening.

“Ah, Olivia, you're here,” Walter called as soon as she opened the door. He wasn't quite in high spirits, but he was energetic in the way that he always got before an experiment.

Astrid gave her a tired smile, which she returned hesitantly. “Yeah,” Olivia replied to Walter. “So, what's going on?”

“Well, what you said to me last night got me thinking,” Walter began. “I wondered how else we could try to unearth the buried memories you and all of us might have. But then I started to think that it might be more than our memories having been erased.”

“What do you mean?” Olivia asked, exchanging a questioning glance with Astrid.

“I realized that I don't have anything of my son's, and no sign of him ever having existed,” said Walter. “And I assume you have no sign of him having ever been with you, Olivia.”

“That's right,” she said in some surprise. “So you're saying this goes beyond our memories. That makes sense. But what, then?”

“He told you that this all has something to do with the Machine. We know that the Machine is capable of exerting enormous amounts of power. So what if the Machine somehow erased him, my son, from existence?”

Olivia blinked. “Is that possible?” It didn't sound as impossible as she thought it probably should.

“Well, that's just it, my dear,” Walter replied. “We know so little about what that Machine can do. But I don't have any other explanation for how he could be gone without leaving any mark of his existence besides vague memories.”

“Then we still don't know who even used the Machine. Your son wouldn't have used it to erase himself,” Astrid pointed out. “That wouldn't make sense.”

“No, it wouldn't,” Walter said, looking thoughtful. “It is still clear that the Machine had something to do with the bridge being formed between the two universes, so it's doubtful that the solution to Peter being missing is as simple as-” He stopped at Olivia's exclamation. “What is it?”

“Peter,” she said, reaching a hand out to steady herself against a counter as a new flood of images rushed into her mind. “His name is Peter.” This time, emotions came with the images, much stronger than even before. She remembered that she and Walter hadn't crossed universes because he needed to know what the other universe was suffering, but to find _Peter_ and bring him back. Because... because of the drawing (another piece of evidence that had vanished), because he didn't belong in that world, and there were shape-shifters that needed fighting, but most importantly because... “You belong with me,” she whispered, throat closing.

There was more, much more, and a lot of it was beautiful although there was plenty of pain as well. For some, she found herself wishing it could have stayed forgotten. Mostly, though, she desperately wished she could go back to that life because Peter was there. And now that she knew him again, she missed him so badly that it was living the past several weeks without him that seemed like the dream. If he couldn't be physically here right now (and there had to be a way to bring him back) she wished he would talk to her again in her head, even if there were side-effects.

 _Olivia_ , he said almost immediately, though he sounded reluctant, _I don't want to hurt you._

 _It's fine_ , she thought, and it was true that the pain was barely perceptible. Unlike other recent events, the flood of images she was recalling was mostly just tiring her out. _Peter, I miss you._

 _Me, too,_ he said. _I – I can only see glimpses of what you see. It feels like it's not quite real._

 _I feel like it's not real without you_ , she thought right away. Talking to him was making her longing even stronger, until she felt like she couldn't breathe. All of a sudden, even the dim sensation of the counter she was leaning against seemed to flicker. She thought she heard Walter and Astrid cry out in alarm.

 _Olivia, what-?_ Peter started to say, and then-

She saw him. She was standing right in front of him, and there was... the blackest Nothingness all around them.

Peter's eyes widened. “How did you get here? No – you can't!”

She barely had time to register his absolute horror before the scene wavered before her eyes, threatening to return her to the lab. She gritted her teeth and took hold of both of his hands. “I'm not leaving here without you,” she vowed. Wherever the hell this is – or isn't, she didn't add out loud. And she focused as hard as she had ever focused on anything, concentrated on holding him tightly as their surroundings flickered again.

It felt like something was stretching and breaking around them. Olivia saw stars and was aware of a bizarre pressure like she desperately needed to pop her ears. She thought she heard Peter make a sound of protest, but at least she knew he was still with her. Hopefully her viselike grip on his hands wasn't hurting him too badly.

But now she felt herself weakening and knew her grip would loosen. _No_ , she thought urgently.

Somehow Peter could still hear her. _Olivia, the Machine_ , he said. _You worked it before. Just turn it on, stay connected to it and me, and maybe we can do this together._

Though she did suddenly remember what he was referring to, she had no idea how that would work. But she had to try, because she could not tolerate the idea that Peter could go back to nonexistence. She reached out to the Machine.

For a moment, there was nothing. She almost panicked, then redoubled her efforts and then found the Machine's cool, impassive surface with her mind. _Okay_. She thought of how it had looked when it was on and they needed it to be off, and thought hard about that happening again. _But... it's not going to do more damage, is it?_ she asked.

 _Not if I can help it_ , Peter said, and she could feel him reaching through her connection to it. It responded at once to his touch, and both of them were jolted by the energy that flowed out of it. _Now, Olivia! Think of the lab. We've got to go. We can't keep it on very long._

Keeping her focus on Peter and him staying with her was slightly easier now that they were both in contact with the Machine, but it still took more effort than she would have thought she was capable of to add to her concentration a mental picture of Walter's lab. She could tell Peter was straining almost as hard to prevent the Machine from causing more destruction.

Finally, when she didn't think either of them could take it anymore, the lab appeared around them and they landed with a thud. Someone was talking excitedly, in a voice that seemed unnaturally loud. But she and Peter had to... what was it? She was so tired. She just wanted to stay lying there where they had crashed.

 _Shut it off,_ Peter told her, without opening his mouth.

 _Oh, yeah,_ she replied the same way. And she found the Machine again, and she and Peter made it power down. Then she realized her hands were still clenched tightly over his, and forced herself to relax her grip. “Ow,” she said, using her voice for what seemed to be the first time in years. And as if that sparked off a chain reaction, the pounding in her head started up and seemed to want to make up for lost time. She groaned.

“Peter!” It was Walter who was doing the shouting. “Oh, son, you're back! Thank God.” His voice broke on the last words and she could hear him crying, but she didn't have the strength to open her eyes.

“Walter,” Peter said, sounding like he was probably in about the same state as her. But she could hear the affection in his voice. “Thanks for remembering.”

She dragged her eyelids open, and saw that Walter had pulled Peter into a sitting position and was cradling him in his lap. Peter slowly reached his arms around to return the embrace.

“Olivia, how did you do that?” Astrid asked, voice tinged with awe and her eyes glittering with tears as well. She sat down next to her. “We thought – I mean, you were gone, too. We almost forgot about the both of you, but you kept almost showing back up.”

The words took several seconds longer than they should to register, but then she nodded. “I had to get to him first, so he could come back. I went to where he was. But I couldn't stay.”

“And you were too stubborn to just leave me there and let yourself exist again,” Peter added. He and Walter still had one arm around each other. He smiled. “Thank you.”

“Couldn't have done it without you,” she said, smiling back. She blinked, and had trouble opening her eyes again afterward.

“We've got to get you guys to somewhere you can rest,” Astrid noted. “Are you hurt?”

“My hands may never recover,” Peter remarked with a rueful glance at Olivia.

“Your hands?” Walter said, worried. “Why, what is the matter with them?”

“It's nothing, Walter,” Peter said. “I promise.”

Olivia flexed her own hands. “We'll be fine. But that rest sounds really, really good.”

“I'd say you've more than earned it. Both of you,” Walter said. He took a deep breath and let it out. “And I am very curious to know all the details about how you've done this, but right now, Astrid and I are going to take you home.”

Olivia let out a relieved sigh at the sound of that word. Home. She exchanged a glance with Peter as they were both helped to their feet. She couldn't hear his thoughts anymore, or transmit hers to him, but she was certain that they agreed: with all of them there together at last, they could finally call this home.

End


End file.
